Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Morning: The Horrors of Oakland

Prithee say...



Hideous sister of Saint Francis
Sharing a bay, but not the beauty:
Thou art like the isle of Augusta-
Isolated among hordes
with all of the green
and none of the splendor.


A stranger on your shores
doffs his cap to native men
only to be spurned
and glazed with heavy eyes
as the riverboat damned
are by Charon darkly hailed.


Spare each other wand'ring fears.
Be as a savage upon the shore
beholding the mighty armada-
Bow, as though to ancient Gods
when in gray and black
your vanquishers alight.

And the Oakland spirit ranging for revenge,
With Ate by its side come hot from hell,
Shall in those confines with a Monarch's voice
Cry "Havoc," and let slip the dogs of war;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.

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